Not what he expected
by cornelia.schuitema
Summary: Sherlock looks up at him, but the fire that usually is in his eyes are, left is fear. Sherlock grabs his hand, holding it as if it was a lifeline, but his grip is weak and his hand is slippery from the blood. Oneshot, Whump


**Not what he expected...**

John didn't know what he was expecting when he finally caught up with Sherlock and the men they were chasing. But it certainly wasn't what he saw. Sherlock and one of the men were fighting, and the other man were running away from the scene, he wasn't very loyal to his friend then. John's first instinct was to help Sherlock fighting the man, but as he rushed to aid him, Sherlock looked up from the fight. _"No John, I'm okay. Go after the other one." _he said. Nothing more with that, John trusted Sherlock to take care of the man himself, after all he had fought down men that where twice his size before, and this man was much smaller than Sherlock. And he knew that if he didn't try to catch this man Sherlock would be sulky, and he wouldn't cope with a sulky Sherlock after a whole week of chasing after criminals and working at the clinic. So he threw a last gaze upon the fighting men before he started to run after the man that was ahead of him.

He was starting to catch up with the man when something got him to stop dead. The sound of a gunshot. He twisted around, the man completely forgotten and started to run back towards Sherlock, with only one thought in his mind. _'Please God let him be okay.' _He rounded the corner right in time to see the flip of the man's coat as he run from the scene. In the middle of the alley stood Sherlock. He stood facing away from him, looking after the running man. As he heard John he turned around to face him. He had his left arm curled over his chest, and as he saw John he held out his trembling right arm. He looked at John with a confused face, pain written all over it. He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but not a word came out. Then his whole body started to convulse and he let out a whimpering sound of pain before he fell to the floor.

John barely got a chance to catch him before his head hit the ground. He fell to his knees, Sherlock in his arms. He lay him down so that he rested with his head in John's lap. He put his hands over Sherlock's, pressing down on the wound. Sherlock whimpered, and looked up at him with pain in his eyes. John let go of the wound telling Sherlock to keep pressure. Then he untied Sherlock's scarf, moving Sherlock's hands from the wound, which already was soaked in crimson blood. He pressed the scarf against the wound, picking up his Blackberry mobile from his pocket and called 999._"999, what is your emergency?"_ He looked down on Sherlock's pale face, locking his eyes with Sherlock's grey. _"I have a gunshot wound in the lower right chest, the victim is a male in his mid thirties..." _He was told that they would send an ambulance as fast as they could. He looked down at Sherlock again, and saw that the man was much more pale than he had been only a minute ago, the pool of blood was growing around them and he was losing blood fast. As Sherlock's eyelids started to drop, John grabbed one of his hands in his own, keeping pressure on the wound with the other hand. _"Hey, Sherlock. Look at me, don't fall asleep," _he said. Sherlock looks up at him, but the fire that usually is in his eyes are, left is fear. Sherlock grabs his hand, holding it as if it was a lifeline, but his grip is weak and his hand is slippery from the blood. _"But 'm tired J-Joh..." _He was interrupted by a coughing fit, and when he stopped he had blood running down his cheek. John held his hand tighter, getting his attention. _"Sherlock, look at me. Stay awake, don't talk." _He looked at Sherlock and saw that his eyes were drifting away. Something wet was dripping on Sherlock's face, rain? John's trousers where soaked in blood, the pool around them growing by every second. Sherlock was losing blood fast, too fast. _"Sherlock focus on my voice, don't sleep...do you hear me? Not yet_."

Sherlock looked up on him. He nodded gripping his hand more tightly. He started to shiver slightly. _"'m cold 'ohn... 'urts."_ John nodded, taking of his own jacket and putting it over Sherlock. _"Yes, I-I know Sherlock. But you have to stay awake for me. Can you do that?"_ Sherlock looked up at him, breathing fast and shallow, with glassy eyes. _'Where is the damn ambulance?' _He must have said itout loud, because Sherlock gave him a faint smile._ "J'n, do you... regret meeting me? 've never thanked Mike for...introducing 's..." _John shook his head._"Of course not Sherlock... We'll thank him when we get home." _Sherlock raised his other arm, and gripped the fabric in the front of John's shirt. It was a weak grip, so weak that if John hadn't known about it, he wouldn't even have felt it. Sherlock took a whimpering breath, his eyes glassy of tears that now streamed down his face. John weren't sure if it was from the pain, or maybe fear, or both. _"I'm __sorry...that I...put you 'n danger...J'hn, s-sorry that I'm a freak..." _Sherlock stopped there, a coughing fit stopped him from speaking. _"You have nothing, nothing to be sorry about Sherlock, and you are no freak." _John felt how the grip around his hand tightened. _"'m no freak...you don't think?" _A smile spread over Sherlock's face, a pained smile. He let out a whimper, looking at John with a glassy gaze. He tried to raise his hand to touch John's face, but he couldn't find the strength to do it. Instead his hand fell to his chest, resting on John's hand that were pressing down on the wound.

It was barely bleeding now, it wouldn't be long. Sherlock tried to grab the hand, but he could barely move. All his strength went to holding on to John's hand. _"'m scared 'ohn... 'don't wanna die..."_ He was getting more and more tired, and it was getting hard for him to only hold his eyes at John's face. He felt John squeezing his hand harder._ "I know Sherlock... don't be scared, you are not _ _alone I_ _am here." _John didn't say that he would be alright, or that he wouldn't die. Because both of them knew that it was too late. Sherlock fixed his eyes with John's, his breath becoming shortand irregular. _"Thank you...John... for staying..."_ he whispered as he heard the ambulances getting closer, but it was too late. Then his grip around John's hand loosed, and his hand fell down to his chest. His eyes became blank and unseeing, he draw a last shallow breath.

The last thing he felt was John pressing his lips against his forehead.


End file.
